


Turning Away from the Light

by spookyhead



Category: LISA (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Immolation, Implied/referenced infant death, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Non-Chronological, Post-Joyful, Pre-Flash, Suicidal Thoughts, content warnings at the beginning of each chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27087862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyhead/pseuds/spookyhead
Summary: Collection of drabbles requested on my Lisa blog, based from a one-word prompt list. Each prompt word is found in the chapter title.
Relationships: Brad Armstrong/Terry Hintz, Crisp Ladaddy/Toby( (LISA)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	1. Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A corpse has one more dream before he finally lives.

A baby lay in her crib. Brad stared down at her, blurriness in the edge of his vision framing the crystal clear sight of the child. As it should be, his focus needed to be on what was important. Anything else was extraneous.

But who was she? Her round face was clear as day and so, so familiar, but was she a sister? A daughter? Brad wracked his brain for an answer but none came. Perhaps...perhaps it didn’t matter.

The wooden framing of the crib seemed distorted, bending over the child almost as if it was a cage. For some reason it made Brad feel better, the small piece of vulnerable life at least was protected. But she would be even safer with him. He reached down and gathered her up into his arms, murmuring assurances all the while.

Then there was a flash, and he was standing in front of a broken window. Bewildered, Brad finally looked around at his surroundings. He was in a house, his old home, maybe? Perhaps, but instead of average, flat suburbia there was a wasteland outside that looked like it had taken the place over. Sand and dust covered everything, stained wood and moldy furniture partially obscured by it. Decay everywhere.

When Brad looked back down to the infant he held, his breath caught in his throat. What used to be the child was meat. Twisting coils of guts and slabs of flesh still wrapped in linens that were now soaked with coppery-smelling fluid. It still gurgled at him. Blood roaring in his ears Brad then heard a scream, he didn’t know if it was from himself or something else.

Then he woke up, the taste of bile in his mouth with his face against gravel and dirt. Brad tried to look at his hands to see if there was still blood on them, but then remembered he didn’t have those anymore.

He grunted as he sat up, abdomen and back tensing to make up for the lack of aid from any limbs. Another reason Brad hated to stop and rest, in the state he was in it was so much harder to regain any sort of momentum in his pursuit. Regardless, after some effort he was able to get back on his feet.

An expanse of bluish cliffs surrounded him, an overcast sky above. The army’s territory was just within his reach, inside it Brad would find what he was searching for. Anything else was extraneous.


	2. Absolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She can't truly be the person he's calling for. That girl is dead.

For the first time in a long while, Buddy was keenly aware of the blood on her skin. It wasn’t like there hadn’t been previous instances this occurred, like after Buzzo’s sick mutilation and then later getting clawed across the face, but following those events it was as if she was getting numbed to the sensation. 

There wasn’t any point in devoting the energy to caring about it at the time. Whatever she wiped away from her face, hands, and weapons was sure to be replaced within the day as she cut down all the monsters and men, and monsters who looked like men. 

But now there didn’t seem to be many of those left. The wasteland was silent and emptied of life, as Buddy was. Now without the Joy and the pulsing adrenaline she felt hollow and aching, the blood smearing her skin and poncho with a warm, sickening stickiness. What was from herself, from the mutant throne, from Buzzo, Buddy couldn’t even keep track. She was tired but didn’t dare sleep, instead electing to find some body of water to try and get clean. 

After some searching she found a shallow pond with cloudy brown water, trash strewn about as plentiful as the stones around the edges. It was sheltered from view of others by the cliffs surrounding it, a relatively safe location. Buddy looked at her reflection, and the face of a corpse stared back at her. The water smelled foul but did the job, and she tore off a piece of her poncho as a rag to help scrub the rusty stains off herself. As she worked suddenly there was the quiet scrape of something against dirt, a low groan. 

What used to be Brad wormed its way over to her side. As always, following her. It too was in terrible shape, wounds old and new crisscrossing its saggy skin and rippling as it moved along. The mutant made another mournful noise, sunken eyes staring at her dully with its face contorted under a matted beard. 

“Relax. I’m fine.” Buddy muttered, though she couldn’t tell if the mutant was concerned or that was just what it usually did. She avoided looking at it too closely while finishing up. Her hand brushed against the loose fitting bandages as she wiped her cheek and she pulled them off, seeing just how dingy they were. She didn’t even think about the scars being exposed, but then abruptly Brad moved, recoiling with an anguished grunt. 

“...Lisa…” 

Buddy blinked in surprise. That name again. Buzzo had mentioned her too, and while she knew there was some connection between that person and the other two she felt too drained to even start trying to piece things together. She didn’t know how to respond, just shook her head and turned her gaze back to the water, but then her attention was recaptured by the soft sounds of rattling sobs. 

“Lisa…Lisaaa...” Every word sounded like it was labored, slurred like how Brad used to talk when he was drinking too much. “I’mmm…..s-sorry…” Tears were falling from his eyes and Buddy felt something inside her twist as she remembered what Buzzo said. 

_You remind me of her._

____

____

At first, she didn’t know what to make of it. The mutant’s sobs and mutterings continued and scraped against her nerves, she just wanted to cover her ears. But Brad’s eyes remained fixed on her, almost pleading. 

“I’m okay.” Buddy touched where she knew her scars to be, feeling the slight distortions in the flesh. “I’m alright, Brad. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” 

Yet still, the apologies continued. Buddy’s brow furrowed and she quickly reapplied her bandages, but even that didn’t seem to help. Its tears made her think back to the massacre of the army, when Brad knelt in front of her pierced through with weapons and begged to be held. 

Hesitantly, she reached out. Her hand smoothed across the mutant’s back, or what could be discerned to be a back in the mass of flesh. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” Maybe it wasn’t, for her injured face at least. It was Brad who defended her back then, after all. 

_I was so lost before I found you, Buddy._

____

____

“I...I forgive you Brad.” Her free hand rested on her trumpet just in case, he still was a mutant after all, but Buddy still kept up the comforting motion. The words that left her mouth were relics from a nearly forgotten time when she could look to others for reassurance. “You’re alright...I forgive you.” 

The process was gradual but finally the mutant eventually calmed through her words, eyes still moist however he no longer seemed agitated. It didn’t quite feel right, offering the forgiveness of someone you didn’t even know, but Buddy didn’t care. For once there was peace and quiet, and that was enough.


	3. Birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irena Yado's usefulness is coming to an end. Buzzo decides to have one last chat before she goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: implied infant death, mild medical experimentation

“You sure you should be doing that here?”

Buzzo watched Irena jolt at his words, spinning around in her chair with her face even paler than usual under the sickly fluorescents of the lab. At the sight of him the panicked energy she carried seemed to diminish slightly, shoulders sagging as she visibly exhaled. Buzzo almost found it surprising, it was a rare occurrence for his presence to set people here at ease.

“Are _you _sure you should be sneaking around at two in the morning, giving people heart attacks?” She shot back, turning back to the equipment set up at the end of the room and entering something on the keyboard. “I’m doing my job.”__

____

____

“Not what I meant.” Buzzo strode over to examine the monitor as well, then pointedly nodding at the cigarette in her free hand. “Didn’t think that’d be good for your kid.” Irena followed his gaze with a flicker of puzzlement before shaking her head, flicking some ashes to the side.

“The air she breathes is filtered from a separate source. It isn’t an issue.” She glanced sideways at Buzzo, pale blue eyes like chips of ice narrowed. Sometimes she almost reminded him of his mother. Not in the maternal sense of course, more so in the cold, calculating way she always regarded him in. “Didn’t think you’d be one to care about that.”

“You’d be right, there.” Buzzo shrugged as he peered down at the main event of the room, the tank where all the beeping monitors and tubes facilitating the flow of chemicals were attached to. Inside the incubation tank lay a baby, _the _baby. Suspended in fluid to sedate her, she was illuminated with lights that cast a blue glow over both of their faces. “I was just curious. Figured you wouldn’t put her at risk.”__

__

____

“ _Excellent _deduction, Buzzo.” Irena rolled her eyes as she turned her attention back to the computer screen. “Making the bold, innovative claim that after years of work and waiting, I’d actually _care _about my child? Really, I’m surprised you haven’t replaced my husband as the head of this project by now.” Buzzo just grinned.____

_____ _

_____ _

“Well you know what they say, sometimes a guy’s gotta keep himself humble.” He spread his hands in mock haughtiness, and Irena shook her head but did allow a slight chuckle. Both of them knew very well of Buzzo’s actual propensity for the scientific side of the Joy Corporation.

In addition, Buzzo also knew very well just how much all this meant to Irena. This child was the third. The goal was a human being with increased physical performance and survivability, much higher than the average person, but it seemed genetic manipulation was a difficult thing to master on the first try. The first one died soon after the fetus was removed from Irena for further development. Buzzo had a feeling it was used for mutant food after that, but he couldn’t quite recall and didn’t give enough of a damn to try and find out. The second _was _successful initially but developed a major flaw, at least for Yado’s plan: it was a boy. Irena would’ve seen no issue with that and been confused, so instead Yado took the baby and she was told he died like the other. While Irena grieved, Yado found another use for the child.__

____

____

He hadn’t yet experimented with mutation in human infants, after all.

Silence fell for a while as Irena continued to work, the sounds of machinery and the tap of the keyboard blending in as part of the ambience. Buzzo watched the screen, discerning what information he could just out of curiosity.

“...I can’t believe it’s finally going to be done.” Irena muttered, and Buzzo now noticed the bags under her eyes. “Few more minutes. Then she’ll be ready.”

“You figured out a name yet?” The instant the question left Buzzo’s lips he realized how stupid it was, at least to him. With what was to come, it wasn’t something she’d have to worry about. But Irena was ignorant, and her hard-lined face softened.

“I...somewhat.” She shrugged, sitting back in the chair as she fidgeted with the lapel of her lab coat. “We haven’t talked about it together yet.” Her expression soured. “Knowing him, he’d probably just try and name her something like ‘Subject #3.’”

Buzzo snorted. “Probably.”

“It’s difficult,” Irena continued, taking a puff of her cigarette. “She’s going to be so important. A milestone for genetics research with the potential to improve so many people’s lives in the future…” She recited it smoothly like she’d rehearsed it, like a business pitch, and Buzzo wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. She was the one who started this project apparently, taking some of the research behind Yado’s monstrosities and aiming to make it more constructive. “It’s hard to put one word to encompass all of that.”

It took quite a bit of willpower for Buzzo to stifle a laugh. It felt so ridiculous. All the posturing, all the fancy words, in a few hours it was going to mean jack shit. He supposed she was right about one thing though. This girl would be _very _important.__

____

____

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Was all he said. Buzzo didn’t dislike this woman enough to dash her hopes and he knew her husband was going to handle that later, anyway. He also knew that this would likely be the last time she had any sort of victory, any sort of joy. While he never allowed himself any sentimentality in this project, out of all the scientists here Irena was the only one who called him Buzzo when he’d told her to. For that, he’d do this one favor.

Irena nodded, brushing back the wispy dark hair that had fallen in her face as she returned to work. A couple more clicks with the mouse, taps on the keyboard, adjusting dials, and then there was a beeping noise. Both of them watched as the fluid began to drain from the tank, the baby lowered to lie down on the bottom.

Irena exhaled shakily, turning to look at Buzzo with an expression he’d never seen on her before. A strange sort of elation, smile twitching at the corners of her thin lips like she was trying to hold it back. She all but sprung out of the chair to go to her child’s side and Buzzo stepped back to give her room. The lid to the tank opened up and Irena beamed, pride clear on her face.

“Hey, sweetie…” She murmured, reaching underneath the tank and procuring a cloth. The baby’s red face scrunched up as she squirmed, making small noises while Irena gently wiped her clean of the remaining chemicals then set to work detaching at the tubing. When that was finished she abruptly jolted, feeling at her pockets with a frown. “Damn, my phone…it’s back upstairs.” She looked to Buzzo, wringing her hands with nervous excitement. “I can’t leave her...can you go get my husband for me? Tell him she’s ready.”

“Sure.” Buzzo’s expression was impassive as he nodded, turning heel and leaving the mother and child alone. He could hear Irena still softly speaking to the baby until he closed the door behind him. As he made his way up to his boss’s office, humming softly, Buzzo didn’t have to bother reasoning with himself why all this needed to be done. There was no room for second thoughts and hesitation, those things he’d beaten down and gouged out of himself a long time ago.

And when he gave the news to Yado in his office, watching the man calmly load a few bullets into a revolver before exiting the room, Buzzo didn’t even bat an eye.


	4. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dustin does a favor for the ones he loves(or what he thinks is one).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for mentions of suicidal ideation

Dustin left some of his savings in the kitchen of the apartment so Brad would be certain to find them. It was a cramped, dingy space that they were supposed to be only making do with until the dojo was repaired, but costs piled up fast. With the bill from Dustin’s medical care and the fact Brad no longer was able to teach,the rebuilding process was temporarily halted. As he rifled through the stack of bills he held before placing them on the counter, Dustin prayed that this would help the situation. It included money from his ‘uncles’ he had received as gifts from time to time but never felt right using, as well as some of the money he himself scrounged up. 

It was hard to develop any kind of career when your face looked like something that came out of a horror movie, even with the skin grafts repairing the worst of it, but he was lucky enough to find a morning job cleaning at a bar just down the street from the dojo. Not the most glamorous thing to do but it was better than nothing, and the bar was quiet before it opened. Dustin liked it there, it gave him some money and even more importantly a few hours to himself away from the judgement of the outside. 

But now he had to leave that haven behind as well. Once he’d collected enough funds he turned in his two weeks notice. It was part of a plan he’d been turning over in his head for about a year now, something he didn’t dare breathe to anyone else. The ones he cared about would try and stop him, and Dustin was scared that he’d end up listening to them. 

They didn’t realize how much better off they’d be without him. This was the mantra he’d been repeating inside himself since two years ago, when he woke up in the hospital bed with bandages on his face. At the time, and maybe even now, a small part of him wished he never did.

His absence would mean Brad and the others would be free. Free of the costs of Dustin’s doctor appointments, free from whatever made Rick’s smile strained and Brad’s eyes harden whenever they all laid their gaze on him. He only had a vague plan of what he’d do next, catch a bus to the other side of town and find some place to hunker down. Search around, try to get another job, and then…

Dustin breathed a soft sigh to himself. It was always that same thing that blocked the path of his train of thought. The future. He’d been debating with himself for months now, trying to grasp at fleeting possibilities to make a plan, and it hadn’t done any good. Now it was time to act for once in his life instead of freezing up and curling into a ball. 

Treading carefully so his boots wouldn’t make too much noise on the creaky wooden boards, Dustin stood to stare down the dark hallway where he could make out the door to Brad’s room at the end. It was 3 in the morning, even if he couldn’t hear the soft rumble of snores from inside Dustin knew the man would be asleep with how much he drank the night before. Sad blue eyes peered out of the long blonde bangs he allowed to fall in front of his face, a futile attempt to make the scars less noticeable. Something ached in his chest as he realized that he may never speak to Brad again. He didn’t leave a note, either 

“...bye.” Dustin breathed out the word, the farewell barely audible. Quickly he turned away as he felt tears begin to prick in his eyes, feeling ashamed to be crying anywhere near Brad even if he didn’t know. The edges of his vision wavered as he returned to the kitchen, grabbing the backpack that sat near the door containing some clothes, supplies, and the rest of his money. He didn’t pack much food, though. Didn’t want to be any more of a leech than he already knew himself to be. 

After he left the apartment everything seemed to blur together. Dustin moved down the hall in growing panic, praying the sound of the door creaking didn’t wake Brad up. What if it did? If he heard Brad calling from him, would he still be able to walk away? He almost tripped on the stairs on the way down, the tears frustratingly persistent as he tried to rub them away. Finally he reached the heavy metal door or the exit, then Dustin was outside. He fled a few buildings down the street until finally halting, slumping against the brick wall of a nearby store. 

His heart thudded against his rib cage as Dustin gasped for breath, trying to reign in his frantic thoughts so he could remember the breathing exercises his doctor gave him. 

Inhale…

He counted the seconds, held his breath, then exhaled according to the numbers in his head. After repeating this a few more times things finally began to clear. The uneasiness in his gut still remained, but now at least he could think.

Dustin cautiously stepped out back onto the sidewalk to get his bearings. If he continued down this road he should still get to the bus stop on time. The streets were empty save for a few cars parked on the side and the lamps only did so much to illuminate, but as he began to walk he still put his hood up out of habit. 

No eyes on him, the cool air of the Olathian night gently brushing against his skin. To Dustin it felt like he was the only one still there in the whole town. 

The isolation welcomed him back as an old friend.


	5. Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crisp and Toby finally reunite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two never get much of the spotlight, and when I got this prompt I thought it'd be fun to develop their interactions more. Something short and sweet to break up the Pain Train, haha.

“Y-you know, I was kind of worried for a minute there.” Toby’s smile was strained, maybe the worry wasn’t as far behind him as he was trying to let on. “Almost felt like he wasn’t gonna let me go with you.”

Crisp nodded as he watched the group of men depart in the distance, traversing the craggy cliffs until they were out of sight. He had to agree with Toby, in his brief dealings with these strangers there was a calculating, cold look in the bald man’s dark eyes that made him uneasy. A period of tense silence had followed when he requested Toby to be returned to him, but then one of the other strangers clad in an obnoxious, leopard print tank muttered something to their leader. The ropes still binding Toby were removed, and now the two of them were alone.

“You okay?” Toby‘s words brought him out of his thoughts as his hesitant hand brushed against Crisp’s arm. Crisp let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and met the other’s gaze, intertwining his fingers with his own.

“I should be asking you that….” He murmured, and Toby shook his head.

“I’m fine, really. Maybe a little roughed up back at the bathhouse, but could’ve been worse.” He sighed, averting his eyes. It was then that Crisp noticed a small bruise on his jawline, the redness on his wrists from the rope. “Guess I deserved that, I should’ve been more careful- 

“No.” Crisp said firmly, leaning slightly to look Toby in the eye. “Han’s men are formidable, I don’t blame you for anything that happened.” 

The other man didn’t seem convinced but remained silent, instead stepping forward and pressing his face into the crook of Crisp’s neck, arm snaking around his torso. Crisp’s heart ached. He wanted to convince Toby that he didn’t deserve any of the hurt the world deigned to bring upon him, much of the opposite. But with all his skills, in swordsmanship and combat, Crisp believed himself lacking in the ability to do so. 

Instead all he could do was return the embrace, pulling Toby against him like it was the last time he ever could. The contact helped keep away all the frightening possibilities that had plagued Crisp during his lover’s captivity, the image of Toby becoming just another anonymous corpse dumped among the dust and rock of the wasteland. Now he was here, and he was safe.

“...missed you.” Toby mumbled, and Crisp could feel him take a shuddering breath in his arms. He turned his face to press a kiss against the other’s cheek, right where the bruise had marked it. He placed another, then another, slowly making a path with his lips across his tanned, freckled skin until they met with Toby’s own.

Toby made a soft sound against the kiss, clutching at the back of Crisp’s shawl as if trying to bring him even closer. He always kissed him with a determination Crisp found endearing, smushing his face against the other with only a few pauses to breathe. For a few, blissful moments, all that came before went away and it was just the two of them. 

When they finally parted it was for a minuscule distance, foreheads still touching as they held each other. Toby exhaled, and Crisp could now hear the smile in his voice. 

“...let’s go home.”


	6. Betrayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been so long, he'd almost forgotten how much it stung to be left behind.

When he fell asleep, Brad was close beside him. The man was quiet, even more so than usual, but Terry didn’t think much of it at the time. It was to be expected after all, Brad was so close to finding his daughter(again) but with the whole world against them who knew what would happen. Anxiety was his default state, it was just a matter of more or less than usual. Terry felt it too now, a twist in his chest like a coiled up spring.

For all his words and advice, the Lord of Hints couldn’t figure out how to ease Brad’s mind in that moment. When they settled down to camp one last time, planning on departing with the boat the next morning, Terry curled up next to Brad and watched him carefully. Brad didn’t meet his gaze, shifting restlessly for a while. Occasionally a low sound would escape him, a grunt or grumble, and it was clear either the phantom pains or withdrawal were plaguing him once again.

Terry murmured a few assurances, about how Brad wasn’t alone, about how he would stay with him no matter what, gently brushing a hand against Brad’s back all the while. When the other finally turned to look at him it was with dark sad eyes that made Terry’s heart ache.

“...roll over?” The words were breathed out, barely audible, but Terry understood. He did as requested, shifting to face away from Brad on his side. Soon enough he felt Brad press up against him, resting his forehead between Terry’s shoulder blades as if trying to hide his face. Terry adjusted himself accordingly, allowing the other man to curl up around him with the softness of his middle pressing against his back. It was the closest thing Brad could do with no arms to caress or hold with.

“Night, man.” Terry whispered, then feeling Brad nod against him. He could feel his partner’s warmth seeping through his shirt, a comfort in contrast to the cool breeze coming off the nearby water, and Terry clung the sensation as he fell asleep.

When he woke up that morning, the warmth was wrong. It came from the morning sun piercing through the grey, cloudy sky, leaving everything somehow bright yet washed out. There was nothing behind him.

Terry rolled over, sleepy eyes searching but finding nothing but stone and gravel. He sat up, hastily rubbing his eyes as the rest of his surroundings came into focus. The other two members of his party stood at the edge of the cliff overlooking the sea, faces grim. Olan noticed him first, turning to watch him with an expression Terry knew to be so familiar. Pity.

“...guys? Everything alright?” He scrambled to his feet and approached, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Can’t say it is, Terr.” Queen gestured to the calm, dark waters before them. “Look.” There was nothing except the soft ripple of waves, some trash floating on the surface, and therein Terry realized the problem. Where was the boat? The guy who was gonna take them?

“Shit…” Terry barely even processed that issue before another, more pressing one came to the forefront of his mind. “Where’s Brad?”

“We looked around. Didn’t see any ransom note or nothing.” Olan shook his head. “Wandered around calling for him too...I think he flew the coop.”

Terry just stared. “...what?”

“He left us, hun.” Queen huffed, staring at the water with a steely look as if that was what was to blame for Brad’s absence. “Took the boat and went on ahead. Guy’s a lot more sneaky than I took him for.”

Terry’s blood ran cold. He gripped his own arms, knuckles white with tension as he held himself. That couldn’t be right.

“Maybe...maybe he just wanted to handle it himself.” His voice was thin, “Then he’ll come back.”

“If that’s the case, then why’d he take most of our supplies?” It was then that Terry noticed the satchel held in Queen’s hand. She turned it over and pointedly shook it, displaying its empty contents. “I don’t think he’s planning for a round trip.”

This couldn’t be happening. It had to be some sort of a mistake. Maybe Brad was so messed up from the withdrawal that he wasn’t thinking straight. Maybe the boat could only take so many people. Maybe...maybe—

It was no use. The look in Brad’s eyes the night before was now burned into Terry’s mind.

“I’m gonna go after him.” The words shook as they left his lips, but Terry found his resolve returning to him surprisingly fast. Brad had that sort of effect on him, made him feel confident. To get him back Terry would swim the whole way if he had to. If he could just talk to Brad, he knew he could convince him to stay with them.

“You think he wants that?” Olan asked softly, tilting his head. His hazel eyes gazed out from underneath the brim of his hat with a somber sympathy. “Terry, maybe this is meant to happen. I don’t think treading the same path this man will do any good for you. For any of us.”

“Then why did you guys come all this way?” Terry hated how his voice sounded, desperate and shrill and echoing through the rock formations looming overhead. He took a breath, trying to collect himself “Look, I-I’m scared for him, man. If he’s alone out there he’s gonna get hurt. I can’t just sit here.” Giving up now would mean he’d have no choice but to go back to how he used to be. Alone, untethered with no direction, no one to give a damn about him. Now that he had a taste of what it was like to be cared for, to feel someone else’s warmth given freely without expectation, he couldn’t just let it go.

Olan and Queen exchanged glances. The Bee pursed her lips, reluctance written all over her face, but after a brief pause she spoke. “We’ll have to backtrack some...but I think I might know someone who can get us where we need to go. He owes me a favor.”

“You mean it?” Terry felt something brighten in him despite the swirling thoughts and “what-if”’s that kept up their assault on his mind. A weak smile formed on his face. Something in Queen’s expression softened but she quickly cleared her throat, seeming to suppress it.

“Sure. But you’ll owe me now too, so don’t forget it.” She jabbed a finger in Terry’s direction as she walked past, retrieving her bat. “I’m gonna give that bald jerk _such_ a talking-to once we find him.”

Olan breathed out a low chuckle, shaking his head fondly. “I’m sure that’ll be a sight to see.” He too returned from the cliffside, but stopped in his tracks beside Terry as he regarded him with a concern that was a foreign look on him. “...you sure about all this?”

All Terry had to do was meet his eyes, and Olan knew his answer.


	7. Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buddy tries to tie up some loose ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for descriptions of gore and things getting burned alive.

She was inspired by a campfire. It was something Buddy often gazed into when the scavenging was done and there was nothing else to do. A small flickering piece of destruction, the wall of rocks surrounding it and preventing it from moving any further, keeping the flame’s focus on destroying what was below it at that moment.

She thought of a plan, then practiced her trumpet.

It took some time to figure out how to get any semblance of a proper sound out of the instrument, and even once she did it wasn’t much compared to the haunting tones she recalled from her confrontation with the throne of flesh and the pathetic man who sat atop it. Still, after hours of tedious experimentation and a few close calls with mutants accidentally provoked by the sound, Buddy finally established what notes got the reactions she needed from the mindless mounds of meat.

She kept Brad tied to a rock formation in one of the many caverns snaking through the looming precipices of Olathe, it was the only thing strong enough to withstand his efforts to follow her when she left. The craggy walls were deep underground enough to protect him from the sound, Buddy had no desire for him to get caught up in her plan. Whichever way Brad ended up perishing, she didn’t want it to be like that.

The next step was finding a location, which didn’t give her much difficulty. The wasteland was full of precarious ravines and it was just a matter of finding one closed off to escape and big enough for her purposes. Eventually Buddy pinpointed the perfect spot, a sheer drop between two cliff edges with the space below filled with jagged stones. To fall from there would mean certain injury or worse.

It was a place she’d been to before and gave her no joy to return to. Rusty stains still marked up the stones, scraps of polka-dot fabric tied to stakes made makeshift flags in the wind. Among the many piles of bones and flesh nearly picked clean by animals, two larger corpses stood out. She recognized the remains of the mutant Yado sent to attack her, the encounter it had with Buzzo leaving its arms torn off from its body as well as its head, the decaying limbs still sticking up off the ground like bony trees.

Buzzo himself was a little further up ahead. Buddy had left his body there, his bloated form was much too large for any sort of reasonable burial. She doubted he deserved that kind of dignity anyway, but he did offer some aid in the end. As such, when she came across his dented, bloody helmet amongst the carnage, she buried it as a small symbolic grave.

It was an area full of rot, and more than fitting for her purposes. Olathe was dying, disemboweled by Buddy’s own blade, and she intended to finish what she started.

She began a far distance from it, however. Buddy wanted to draw in as many mutants she could before their final destination. Once she set foot on her established path, she raised the trumpet to her chapped lips and began to play.

_Come here._

It was a shrill, piercing call whose sound bounced around the rocks in a ringing echo. Once finished with the melody she’d created Buddy repeated it, eye scanning her surroundings for any signs of movement. Soon enough they arrived. Worming their way out of caverns and stumbling down cliffs, the mutants lurched and groaned in their approach. After eyeing them warily for a moment, Buddy turned heel and briskly marched away with the sounds of the trumpet streaming behind her. The mutants followed.

It was difficult to figure out a straightforward route to lead them in, the terrain uneven and made up of steep angles. Occasionally Buddy would have to pause playing to use her hands to climb a rope or particularly daunting hill, but she tried to keep the music going as much as possible to keep the creatures completely ensnared by it. Some of the bigger ones struggled to maneuver themselves up the cliffs, but her call was persistent and they eventually managed.

As the absurd parade went on, Buddy could hear more and more mutants behind her, the music she made now mixed with gurgling groans and rumbles as an ominous accompaniment. She tried not to look at them, instead just being mindful of her peripheral vision to make sure none were getting too close.

The noise was starting to make her head throb, the combination of constant playing and moving leaving Buddy more winded than she was used to. However with every step there was a swirl of rage in her chest that kept her going. _This_ was the human race that everyone told her she was responsible for, had to keep alive. _This_ was the future she ended up suffering for. It wasn’t fair. She missed the numbness of the Joy, now every emotion inside her felt too sharp, twisting up her insides.

Buddy couldn’t quite tell how long she had been going, passing The List, the emptied out settlements, but after what felt like ages the polka dot flags at last came into view. As she grew close to the cliffside she climbed up onto a taller rock formation, high up enough to have a view over the ravine. The hollow sockets of nearby skulls watched her all the while.

When Buddy finally turned to look at her followers, her breath caught in her throat.

It was a sea of flesh, plain and simple. A writhing, breathing assemblage of bodies extending far back to the edge of the territory, lurching and twisting over each other and impossible to count. Buddy had seen her fair share of horror but something about the sight before her made bile rise in the back of her throat. But it was too late to stop now.

Quickly she raised the trumpet once more, steely determination in her eyes as she cast her gaze back to the pit. When she played again, the tune was changed.

_Move forward._

And so the creatures did. With no thought left in their rotted brains for self-preservation they scrambled forward and around the rock Buddy stood upon, an island among the waves of former men. When the front lines of the mutants reached the edge of the cliff they fell without any fuss, quickly followed by the others pushing behind them. A part of Buddy even more spiteful than the rest wished Yado was still alive down there so he could die terrified, crushed to death by the things he seemed to love so much. But then again, maybe that sick freak would enjoy it.

Buddy played the trumpet with renewed vigor. If that man truly made her in order to have a hand in the creation of these monsters, it would be all the more satisfying to spit in his face and destroy them. It was all the better for the mutants, in her opinion, she’d be putting them out of their misery. A cruel mercy.

Her music only stopped when she found herself alone. Immediately the distant screams and moans reached her ears, but for now Buddy ignored them. She never expected them to all die right away. This next step was to handle that. She now approached an unassuming crate she had filled with what she needed prior, setting her trumpet on the ground and peering inside.

There was a group of empty beer bottles, filled with gasoline and oil and plugged with pieces of cloth. She’d seen such firebombs used by others before, it didn’t take much for her to figure out how to make them. Objects of destruction were easy to find in the wasteland whether it be cigarettes and booze, which caused decay from the inside, or something less subtle. Dustin and Brad may have been able to throw fire but Buddy, even with her abilities in combat, had to get creative.

She took four of the firebombs and returned to the edge of the cliff, placing all but one by her feet as she rummaged into her pocket. Buddy withdrew a lighter, a smudged and scratched up metal box she found off a body while scavenging, then flicked it open to ignite the rag. Time seemed to move in slow motion as she turned her gaze to the pit, lifting a steady hand to aim before hurling the bottle into the ravine.

With a sharp crack it shattered against rock, fire blossoming like a glowing, terrible flower. The dazed sounds of the mutants began to be intermingled with screams. Most of the fire dissipated after a few seconds but Buddy was satisfied by the sight of some scraps of clothing still attached to the mutants catching alight. It was a start.

Thus began the process: light, throw, and repeat. Buddy tried to do it as fast as she could, she wanted this over with. Soon smoke began to rise and the smell of burning flesh assaulted Buddy’s noise, making her lightheaded. By the time there weren’t any bottles to throw it was a thick cloud, partly obscuring the bodies below. The sounds of pain coming from them intermingled with the roar of fire that sent a stifling heat up into Buddy’s face. She slowly backed away, breathing shakily as her trembling hands clutched the lighter. It was done.

At first Buddy tried to imagine it in a different light. The flame purging these mounds of filth from the earth, letting whatever humanity was left in them rise up along with the smoke to somewhere different, somewhere better. She remembered Uncle Rick mentioned a place called heaven once, somewhere people went to after they died where they’d be happy forever.

But as Buddy stared at the screaming inferno below, lungs and eyes stinging, she couldn’t bring herself to believe that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here ends my collection of drabbles, at least for now. I've handled all the prompts I've received so far and don't think I'll be getting any more, but we'll see. Thank you for reading, and special thanks to those who commented and left feedback!
> 
> If you're interested feel free to check out my Lisa blog @joyhigh on tumblr, I talk about stuff from the games and post my art there as well :]


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